tiny doll
by interstellaire
Summary: Thomas always makes fun of her height, and she doesn't know whether she hates it or loves it.


**summary: **Thomas always makes fun of her height, and she doesn't know whether she hates it or loves it.

**rating: **PG

**disclaimer: **i don't own the maze runner

**author's notes: **i was on tumblr, and found "smol and tol" otp prompts and immediately thought of these two. so i managed to stuff these three short little drabbles in this one story. enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated ;)

—

"You're really short, you know."

Brenda snaps her head to where Thomas is leaning against the wall, and shoots him a glare – her lips curve upwards when he draws back.

"And you're an idiot," she retorts playfully. "Help me with this?" She points towards a book on the top shelf that she's been trying to reach for about five minutes – even with _chairs_ she couldn't reach it.

Thomas sighs dramatically, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he walks towards her, and a smirk graces his lips. Instead of stretching up to get the book for her – _like she asked him to do _– he places his hands on her hips and lifts her up onto his shoulder. Brenda yelps – she _never yelps _– as she struggles for balance, and wacks his arm as his surprised laughter echoes throughout the room.

His grin doesn't dissipate though, and she feels her own spreading across her face.

"Why can't you just _get _the book for me, like a normal person," she whines halfheartedly, and Thomas gives her a look of disbelief.

"Since when am _I _normal?" he asks rhetorically, and Brenda smirks, agreeing – he _is_ a weirdo (but he's _her _weirdo). "And I wanted to see your smile," he adds, earnest, and the statement is filled with such _adoration _that her breath almost catches in her throat. Brenda rolls her eyes playfully, trying to ignore the heat spreading through her cheeks as his grip on her waist doesn't waver.

"Sap," she mutters fondly, and turns her attention back to the book. She can't say she hates it when he holds onto her a little tighter when she outstretches her arm to get it, and she can't say she hates it when he gently lowers her to the floor, still holding her.

"Aren't you glad I was here?" Thomas asks wryly, arching an eyebrow. Brenda smirks again.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks for helping me, you giant," she replies, and Thomas wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Love you, too, shortie." Brenda breaks the embrace to punch him in the arm, and laughs at the hiss that escapes his lips. He lunges for her, but she dances out of his reach, running out of the room and down the green hills in laughter as he chases after her.

—

Brenda makes a habit of stealing his clothes. She likes them – they're oversized, comfortable, and always carry his scent – it would be a crime _not _to steal them.

Somehow, Thomas never notices.

She pulls the burgundy sweater over her head, and appreciates how it slides off one shoulder. It's a soft, cotton (a little oversized for even him) sweater with a cursive "T" stitched onto the front corner in gold – it goes down past her waist, almost covering her shorts, and she tucks it in so it doesn't look as big.

Brenda walks out of their shared building down the hill to the center of their island, and the knowing smirk on Minho's face when she passes him in the mess hall is enough to make her laugh.

"Stole another one of the shank's clothes, huh?" he asks, and her lips quirk in amusement.

"You know me," she replies, and Minho rolls his eyes, grinning.

"I still don't get how the shuckhead never finds out his stuff is missing." Brenda shrugs – to be honest, she doesn't know either. She's been stealing clothes from his closet for the past two months, and the most he's come to noticing was the furrow of his eyebrows in confusion, before he shrugged it off and forgot about it.

"Bren?" she turns her head as she hears her name echo throughout the hall, and Minho chuckles behind her. Thomas looks around their little cafeteria, and runs towards them when he spots them. "Bren, have you seen my sweats, they just—" he cuts himself off, and Brenda quirks an eyebrow.

Thomas narrows his eyes at her, mouth opening and closing, and it takes a minute before he asks in confusion, "Is that my sweater?"

Minho barks out a laugh when Brenda gives him her most innocent face.

"Why would you think that?" she asks, inclining her head a little. Thomas raises his eyebrows, grasping her by the waist and pulling her towards him. He tucks the sweater out from her shorts and chuckles as the thing basically hangs off her small form.

"It's too big for you, tiny," he teases, shooting her that shit-eating grin she loves to make her forget what he called her – and so she doesn't hit him. "It's also adorable, so I'm gonna let you wear it."

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes. "You were gonna let her wear it anyway, softie."

Thomas returns his gaze to her, and reaches up a hand to brush her hair out of her face, lips twitching into a smile. "Yeah, I was."

—

She climbs on him a lot.

But it's not _her _fault she's this short and he's that tall – and it's certainly not her fault that he's used to it.

Brenda knows Thomas loves it just as much as she does. She watches the way his face lights up every time she hops on his back, throwing her arms around his neck as he tucks his hands behind the bends of her knees. He's very tactile, she noticed a while ago, and she understands the crave of contact after all they've been through. Sometimes he'll unconsciously pull her closer to his chest in his sleep, or slip his hand in hers without a word.

But Brenda thinks this is probably the contact he loves most – she loves it too; because it's certainly her favorite means of transportation, and if she can't see something, he's practically her personal stool.

Like now for instance.

All the survivors are standing, listening to Vince talk about a new building – a workout room she thinks? – that's going to be constructed in a few weeks. Her and Thomas got here late – Minho had laughed at their disheveled clothes, and arched an unconvinced eyebrow when Thomas told him they were "organizing their building" – so now they're in the back.

Brenda feels her irritation spike, as she's on her damn tiptoes, and everyone is so _freaking _tall, she can't see – she can barely _hear _– what's going on. She throws a glance in Thomas' direction, and scowls when he doesn't seem to be having any problems seeing.

(She doesn't know her parents, but _damn them _for making her so short.)

Brenda huffs out a breath of frustration, and gives up trying to see on her own. She shifts behind Thomas, putting her hands on his shoulders, and props herself up onto his back; he folds his arms underneath her legs, and doesn't seem the least bit surprised. He turns his head to brush his lips against hers, and smirks a little.

"Can't see?" he asks knowingly, and Brenda rolls her eyes.

"Nope. The view isn't too bad up here." She bumps her forehead against his with a playful grin, and Thomas shakes his head fondly.

"Y'know, you should tell your little legs to grow," he jokes, and Brenda gasps dramatically.

"I thought you liked my legs," she teases, and he laughs softly.

"Of course I do. This wouldn't be as fun if you were taller." They're joking around, but Brenda knows a part of him is being serious. She just kisses him again, and presses her face into the curve of his neck.

"You're such a dork," she mutters as her eyelids flutter closed, and Thomas lets out a laugh. Vince's speech ends a few minutes later, and Brenda's already half asleep by then.

"Bren," Thomas says, though she doesn't open her eyes. "It's over."

"I'm _tired,_" she mumbles almost incoherently, and she hears him chuckle softly.

"You wanna get down?"

Brenda flicks the side of his throat. "I said I'm tired, not crazy. Carry me home, weirdo."

Thomas laughs again, and she smiles against his neck as he trudges them up the hill to their shared building, thinking that maybe being small isn't so bad if it comes with moments like these.

—

**fin. **


End file.
